


Accidentally On Purpose

by AHS



Category: Actor RPF, Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: Blow Job, M/M, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-12
Updated: 2008-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AHS/pseuds/AHS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I think it's mid first season filming.  Drunken silliness leads to smuttiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accidentally On Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I made this up.
> 
> I got Gale's joke from Pepe The King Prawn (Muppets), and there's also a Dane Cook joke near the beginning, lol.

Gale and Randy stumble out of the local bar, grinning with drunken delight and holding each other up (or each about five seconds from pulling the other down), and into the cab that has arrived for them. It is not an unfamiliar scene between the two friends, who are known to celebrate the end of long shoots with a bit of imbibing, and who take nearly every chance to hang out together off set.

There is a simple question on the part of the driver, followed by confusion on that of the passengers.

“Rand… where are we going?”

“I dunno… Home?”

“Right, right… Your place or mine this fine evening?”

“Umm… did you throw away the take-out boxes and shit from the last time we were at yours?”

“Mmmm… no.”

“Then mine… Sir? We decided!”

Luckily, Randy is just sober enough to recall where he lives. However, there is another moment of confusion a few minutes later, when Randy is counting out money, and Gale is squinting at his watch because he had been staring at the meter and thought the fare was the time. Although, he is a little relieved to find out it isn’t seventy-five minutes past fourteen o’clock. Randy giggles (possibly more than he should) at the Canadian money he still isn’t used to, earning a dirty look from the cabbie, which quickly fades when he sees how much the men have overpaid him and high-tails it out of there.

“My key doesn’t fit.”

They have somehow made it to the door.

“That’s because it’s your car key, Rand,” Gale responds, finally feeling the less drunk of the two.

“Oh!” Randy says brightly, feeling much enlightened.

They somehow make it inside, to the couch… or the floor… or somewhere in between, before they flop.

“I feel funny,” Randy says. He feels like he’s been reincarnated as a cotton swab, yet he is happy about it. He really does not know what that means.

Neither does Gale. “Tell me a joke.”

“No, I meant…” What the hell. “Okay…” Randy thinks, or tries to. And then Randy runs out of thoughts. “I don’t know any.” But then he finds a thought. “ _You_ tell _me_ a joke.”

Gale blinks twice and then his mouth opens. “What do you get… when you cross an elephant… with a rhino?”

Randy’s mouth twitches sluggishly. This joke is hysterical already. “What?”

“Eleph-ino.”

The pause for laughter is much too long, Randy’s face ripe with lack of comprehension. Gale manages to swat some part of his foot.

“Hell if I know?… _El-eph-i-no_?”

“Ohhhhh.”

The laughter is then raucous and accompanied by much spitting. Randy thinks it is the best joke he has ever heard, and he says so.

“But for you, it should really be crossing a rhino with… with… I dunno, something that starts with ‘fuck’!”

Gale nods. More animals should start with “Fuck-”. Like… what are they called? Those quack-quack birds that float around ponds and shit.

His hand lands on soft cotton and firm belly and tickles, loving Randy’s sounds. “Fucking right. You got any Oreos?” He hasn’t even been smoking, but for some fucking reason, he wants Oreos.

“I do!”

Randy goes to the kitchen in a blurry flurry of excitement and comes back with not only Oreos, but two glasses and some really unnecessary white wine.

“I’m out of milk,” he shrugs.

Gale pats his shoulder and starts pouring wine… a bit on Randy’s carpet, but a good amount in the glasses… happily, before popping a cookie into his mouth. Randy immediately informs his friend that he is eating it wrong.

“You have to do the… the thing.”

Randy’s first attempt at “the thing” results in a broken cookie. The second, however, separates the Oreo into two perfect halves. He dunks the plain cookie half into his wine and slips it inside Gale’s slightly open mouth. Gale chews with his tongue, taking in the oddly delicious combination. But he swallows as more of a gulp, as he watches Randy lick the cream from the other piece.

Randy’s eyes keep closing and his cheeks lifting in bliss, and Gale tries to tell himself that he looks like an excited little kid.

But that’s not what Gale is seeing.

Randy’s tongue appears and disappears, rosy and wet and swiping widely, pulling away coated white. Every time, he seems to lick slower and more thoroughly, and Gale’s jeans seem to get tighter and tighter.

“You’re good at that,” Gale coughs.

He shifts, reaching absently for another Oreo and attempting to twist it apart with one hand (the other holding wine). But it breaks into a few pieces, which fall, and Randy crawls closer.

“Oops. Don’t worry. I’ll get...”

Randy dips his head under the glass Gale holds and close enough to investigate his lap. He locates a piece of cookie resting atop Gale’s zipper. Finding that his hands are somewhat trapped under his own body, and repositioning not really occurring to him, Randy decides there is only one way to collect the wayward snack.

He drops his mouth, surrounds, and eats it right off the denim, teeth grazing slightly the man inside.

Gale holds his breath, and Randy lets his cheek rest against… “Um, Gale?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re hard.”

Gale spills his wine all over his lap then, and a little on Randy’s face. “Fuck. Sorry, Rand.”

Randy wonders if Gale means he is sorry for the spill or sorry for being hard, but he doesn’t ask. Instead, he rubs his wet cheek over the already drenched fabric sheltering Gale’s erection. Then he places his lips to it and tries to suck the wine away. He receives only a drop, but a moan from Gale promises a drop of something better.

“You should, um… take these pants off.”

That’s the logical thing, right? Randy is proud of himself for having thought of it.

“I’ll wash them… or something.”

Randy wishes he could remember if he owns a washing machine.

The voice in Gale’s head that is telling him this is a bad idea is drowned out by the louder, more inebriated voice, screaming, “Woohooo!!! GET NAKED!!!!” And then, more quietly, “…with Randy.”

But his arms and legs have picked sides, and before he knows it, they have taken the wine-soaked jeans right off him.

“Uh… sorry… Did you want me to change in your bathroom, or…?”

“Why?” Did Gale not notice Randy helping to pull the pants from his legs? Never mind how his shoes and socks disappeared? “We’re always naked… I mean, around each other.”

“Yeah,” Gale agrees. But Randy is still hovering… actually _staring_ at his lap, and Randy’s fingers rub at the slight alcoholic stickiness left on his thigh. And when he feels a hot tongue drag across the damp material of his jockey shorts, he decides this is not typical, just another day at work behavior. It must be how much they’ve had to drink.

“These are wet, too,” Randy muses.

Gale knows it’s not just from wine, or even Randy’s saliva. He is hard… harder than hard… and he is leaking.

“Maybe… you should… these…”

Fingers too nimble, considering how sloshed the body, creep under the elastic waistband. Gale suddenly feels cool air hit his cock, which is standing very much at attention and not even swaying. He lets his head… a lead balloon filled with helium… fall back against the sofa cushion. He knows, even with eyes closed, that Randy’s mouth is inching closer and closer, and he decides to let this happen.

Gale is naked from the waist down and sprawled out before him, and Randy is between Gale’s legs, on his stomach, on the floor, and it just seems the natural progression to lick the man’s dick to see if it also tastes like wine. So he does.

It doesn’t. Just tastes like…

“ _Gale,”_ Randy whispers, and then his mouth is much too full and too occupied to be properly understood again… never mind what mumblings he might let slip to himself, about how beautiful Gale is and how long he’s been wanting to do this.

Gale mostly doesn’t hear. He’s too busy practically swallowing his own lips in an attempt to keep silent. Which, really, is Gale’s first clue that he is not as drunk as he would like to let himself believe, because if he were, he wouldn’t give a fuck what sounds he might make or what he might say. He wouldn’t even think about it. So, he decides to be drunker… just a little bit… just enough to let go the rest of the way. Concentrates on the fizzy warmth in his veins and the electrifying pressure slide on his cock and can’t believe how good he feels.

Gale thinks that from now on, whenever Justin is supposed to blow Brian in a scene, Randy should just do it for real. He’s so good at it, so… fucking hot. Gale knew that last part before, but goddamn… Asking him to fake it is just… a waste.

Gale bites his lip a few times, because he just can’t help it, but he doesn’t hold back. _“Fuck…”_

Randy had tried to tell himself that this would never happen, and that even if it did, it wouldn’t be this incredible or addictive… but now he knows that he was wrong on both counts. Gale’s dick is to be worshipped, and he keeps cursing and panting and palming the back of Randy’s neck, and this is way better than that daydream fantasy Randy had once about sucking Gale off in wardrobe on a five minute break.

Randy loves the taste of just Gale… skin and sweat and pre-cum, which he sucks lightly from Gale‘s tip. But he spies his wine glass sitting nearby and gets a fun idea. He pulls away just long enough to incite moans of complaint, to which Randy makes little shush sounds. He lets Gale watch him as he puts the glass to his lips and takes the remaining couple of sips into his mouth. He then returns to Gale’s dick, now kneeling in between his legs and holding him firmly vertical, and proceeds to drizzle wine from his mouth into Gale’s slit. The excess drips all down the shaft. Randy sucks and slurps at the slit, tasting a potent mixture, and licks his own wine-flavored spit from the length, down to where drops glisten in dark pubic hair.

Randy’s thumbs rub in circular motions… his left on Gale’s right hipbone, and his right moving over Gale’s balls. Gale gasps and squirms and is so fucking happy they drank enough to finally do this. His thoughts about his costar have been getting… _friendlier and friendlier_ … He knew it probably wasn’t a smart idea, but he’d also known it would be like this. His body is on fire and his head is swimming, and the guilty liquor is named Harrison…

Randy has just taken Gale’s cock into his throat when Gale swears and kicks one of his long legs out, foot knocking over the still partially full wine bottle. Gale doesn’t notice, but Randy does. He doesn’t give a fuck about stains on the carpet, and he doesn’t make a move except to swallow. But it reminds Randy of how they got here. That this beautiful, amazing… quite possibly _straight_ , although that seems a silly worry at this point… man in his apartment, on his floor, in his mouth… is completely bombed, and that is the only reason why he’s allowing this. Randy had come up with the first dumb excuse to get the man’s pants off and taken advantage of him.

Randy knows he has been drinking, too, but the fact that he realizes his bad behavior makes it clear to him that he is not quite as drunk as he would like to let himself believe.

God, he is hard. Randy wants to fuck Gale so bad. He wants Gale to suck him, fuck him, wants it all. He really wants to let a couple of fingers slip inside Gale’s crack, which is _right there,_ and push into his hole. See if that ass would push back, ask for more. Wants to twist his tongue up into him and taste him there, too.

But he won’t. He won’t take advantage of his friend… anymore. He won’t hurt him like that.

Sucking, pulling, up and down, up and down on Gale, Randy reaches into his own pants (he’s not sure when he opened) and grabs his dick, starting a frantic jerking off pace. His senses feel slowed down but also heightened, and he knows, even untouched, he was already close. And he thinks… somehow he knows Gale is…

Warmth floods Randy’s mouth… a little, and then a lot… and Gale’s hips buck and Randy drinks him down… and maybe it’s a result of all the other drinking he’s been doing tonight, but he thinks Gale’s is the best cum he’s ever tasted.

Several of the words Gale chokes out sound like Randy’s name, so… at least that would mean Gale knows who he’s with. But Randy’s not sure he can trust his own ears, the rushing blood heart-pounding white noise of his oncoming orgasm getting louder. Just a few more strokes…

“Rand… let me…”

Gale wants to help, needs to… something, because he’s been watching Randy’s tongue again… like before, rosy and wet and swiping widely… pulling away coated white, but with a different cream.

Long fingers surprise and collide with Randy’s, and as soon as they brush his dick, Gale just barely touching him, Randy cries out. His body quakes… surges and shudders… and when he can breathe again, chin to his chest, his eyes open to himself softening and a tangle of still moving hands covered in milky white.

Fuck. Randy is pretty sure he’s never felt better, but he is so tired… feels so relaxed now and so heavy. He slumps forward and twists to his side, stretching out on the floor, his forehead sticking sweaty to the outside of Gale’s thigh. He is passing out, very content to not think about any of this… content to not ruin it yet… when he has to lift his arms, and his head slightly, because his T-shirt is being pulled over his head.

“You’re not naked enough,” Gale declares, only a little slurred. “Those are wet now, too.” He points to Randy’s legs and the cum-glazed open fly of his jeans. “Should take them off.”

“Why?”

“Be more comfortable. To sleep.”

“Oh… Sleep where?”

“Here’s good.”

Randy’s legs pump like he’s riding a bike uphill until he manages to get them free, and then he melts into the carpet. In less than a minute, he is asleep.

Gale slides his body down flat, next to him. He smiles lazily at how delicious Randy looks, small drop of cum at the corner of his mouth and (somehow) persistent Oreo crumb stuck to his flushed cheek, and then kisses them both away. He hefts one of his arms to lay across Randy’s chest, and lies back until the very colorful evening goes dark.

They sleep like that, on Randy’s living room floor… Gale in only a shirt, Randy in only his underwear… Gale’s hand he’d never bothered to wipe off lightly glued to warm skin rising and falling.

***

Randy wakes up about two hours later with his face in Gale’s armpit.

He smiles, actually loving the musky, sweaty smell… but then he makes the mistake of sitting up. His head screams at him. And when he sees Gale lying there, after a moment of burning the image into his memory, Randy shuts his eyes tightly.

Shit… not good. This is not good.

Randy gets up carefully. Looks at the clock… just after four a.m. He goes to the bathroom to relieve his filled to bursting bladder and brush the really not so great anymore taste from his mouth. He stumbles into the kitchen, gets a bottle of water, and takes a couple of ibuprofen. He turns off all the lights they’d left on, goes back into the living room… and doesn’t know what to do.

This is very bad. But it was _so good_.

He wants to drape himself on top of Gale and go back to sleep. But what he doesn’t want is to see the look on Gale’s face when he wakes up and remembers… and regrets.

Randy takes an afghan off the back of the sofa and puts it over Gale. He wavers, body and mind, almost retreating to his bedroom. But leaving Gale out here alone like this seems just as bad as sleeping wrapped around him all night when he can’t fight back, so Randy curls up on the sofa. He sleeps with his back facing out, hiding already from the sight of Gale running away in the morning.

He mumbles a quick prayer under his breath that he has not lost himself a job, not wrecked a good working relationship, and especially not lost the best friend he’s just found.

***

When Randy wakes again, the afghan is covering him. And Gale is gone.

But not really. Randy’s nose is hit with the blessed scent of coffee just before a mug is held out to him.

“Morning… just barely.”

Gale has his clothes back on and is looking far too good for how much they had to drink and how bad he should feel. He is even… smiling. Maybe he was so out of it, he really did forget what happened. Why doesn’t that thought make Randy feel any better? He clears his sleep-clogged throat.

“What time is it?”

“11:56.”

“Shit.”

“You have somewhere to be?”

“No.” Thank God for days off. Randy sits up and takes his coffee, sipping gratefully and peering over the edge at Gale, confused. “Why are you-” _…still here?_ “…so perky? I feel like hell.”

“ _Perky??_ Fuck you, too, Harrison. That‘s one I‘ve never been accused of!”

The lopsided grin reassures Randy, as does the icepack Gale holds up and then rests against his head. It’s enough to make Randy relax and smile along. Everything is all right. Gale hasn’t run away, but they’re not going to talk about it. It’s just one of those drunken moments in life you decide didn’t happen. Or else, your brain decides not to let you remember. Randy even tries to convince himself that he doesn’t remember every second, every sound, every breath and flavor with crystal clarity.

“I take back ‘perky.’ But you seem better off than me.”

Gale comes over and gestures for Randy to scoot forward, then sits next to him on the sofa, one leg folded in and tucked behind his lower back. Randy tenses, lost as to Gale’s intentions, until he feels the soothing rub at his throbbing temples. Fuck, that’s nice. He makes a small strangled sound saying as much, and Gale laughs.

“Poor Randy. Not everyone can hold their liquor like me.”

“I’m holding it. If I puked, I’d probably feel better.”

“Maybe. But I think I’ve got a better idea for something to try.”

“Yeah? What’s…”

Randy’s words lose momentum when he feels Gale’s lips on his neck. Kiss. Kiss. Nibble.

“Uhh…”

And he can’t say what happens first… Gale’s hand covering the front of his briefs and grabbing his cock, or Gale’s cock moving against his back… but, there are hotly whispered words in his ear.

“I think it’s because of you I feel this good, so… why don’t I see what I can do for you?”

Randy’s hips maneuver away from Gale and he scrambles to stand. Okay, obviously Gale remembers. But what is he doing? Randy yells the only possibility he can imagine.

“Are you teasing me?”

“What the fuck? No, I’m n-” Gale stops and waves his hand at Randy’s mostly naked body. “I’d say you’re the one teasing me.”

Randy suddenly feels ridiculous and much too vulnerable, and walks quickly to his bedroom. He considers hiding, but stays only long enough to throw on a pair of sweatpants, then goes back out to face… this very weird morning after.

“Gale, I’m sorry about last night, okay? I- I shouldn’t have had that much to drink. Maybe neither of us should, but it was my fault that I… I just want you to know I didn’t have some kind of seduction plan. It wasn’t like that. It was, it was an accident.”

Hazel eyes go from perplexed and entertained to incredulous and slightly pained. “An accident? You sucked me off by accident, Rand? You tripped and fell with your mouth open, and you caught your balance with my dick down your throat?”

Randy’s face burns. He drops his head and stares at a lint ball in the carpet. “No… I meant, making you spill the wine, and then… the rest…” He can’t make himself look at Gale. Shit, this is what he was afraid of. “I’m just sorry.”

“Oh.”

That’s all Gale says for a full minute. Then the silence is broken by him standing up and walking to the door. Randy watches his shoes as they go.

“See you Monday, I guess.” Gale’s voice is… unnatural. His shoes pause. “But, uh… I was hoping you weren’t sorry. I sure as fuck wasn’t, until now.”

What? Wait a minute…

“Gale!”

Possibly the fastest Randy has ever moved in his life, he runs across his apartment and throws himself on the door, blocking Gale’s exit. Gale looks at Randy’s panicked face and puffing chest… and has to try not to smile. Randy catches it.

“I thought I ruined everything.”

Gale shakes his head and lets the smile come out. “Accident, Rand?”

“Okay, maybe not. Now that I really look at it, I don’t even think you spilling the wine was an accident.”

“You think I did it on purpose, do you?”

“No, I think it was more… accidentally on purpose.”

“Really? So, what about the rest?”

“Oh, blowing you? That was… that was _serendipity_!”

They laugh and gaze and laugh some more, and Randy is just about to try being seductive and ask if Gale liked it, when his mouth is interrupted. By Gale kissing the breath out of him. It’s soft but powerful and… brand new. This is not work. They didn’t even do this last night. This is what they want, sober.

Absolutely on purpose.

“You said you don’t have any plans today, right?” Gale murmurs when he pulls back.

“Yeah, I’m… free. Why?”

Randy finds himself pushed more firmly back against the door and his sweatpants and underwear pushed down until they’re around his knees. Down where Gale is.

“I still owe you one hangover cure.”


End file.
